SCATTERED, MON 15JULY2013 MOR

 

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0715-1000

Crew: Bri and Shan                                           

Conditions: 3-4+ FT, consistent, scattered, glassy, consistent, unpredictable.

     I hit the snooze button until 0615. In my book, this is late. It’s already bright outside. Sitting up in my bed, I can already tell that there’s no marine layer. It’s gonna be a beautiful day.

     After Bri and I load up our gear, I check Surfline one more time, and they have the current conditions at El Porto posted. 2-3 feet and fair, it says. As much as I’d like to drive to Orange County (where the surf is bigger), I just came off of a work weekend and haven’t surfed since Friday. Avoiding a commute, we decide to go local.

     I glance over the Chevron tanks and down 45^th Street as we drive south on Vista Del Mar. There are lines coming in. “It’s gonna be good,” I say. We drive past an empty parking spot, but I kill my impulse to pull in and take it. I haven’t surfed Porto in a while, I want to, but . . . it’s hard to pass up my favorite local spot. I’d rather not deal with a lineup full of smileless strangers, and I actually look forward to going to the place where I know people’s faces.

     As we drive down the hill towards the surf, I see that it’s not even crowded. There are only a few heads out, but the surf . . . it’s just as good as Porto was when we drove by. Lines roll in across the whole beach. The break in front of the brick house is making a peaky right. Surfline had called it two-to-three, but it’s more like three-to-four. Even better, the tide will be good for the whole morning. I’m so glad that we decided to go local.

     After we’re done changing, I notice that I parked in a bad spot. Street cleaning will be here at 0900, but I’m so anxious. Since I haven’t surfed in two days, I don’t want to waste any more time looking for another parking spot. I tell Bri that I’ll move the car at 0900.

     Trunks is the call today. I have a feeling that the water’s gonna be warm, especially with sun rising over the Manhattan homes. It’s finally looking like summer. I can feel it.

     On the shore, the inside is consistent. Scattered windswell peaks are breaking across the whole beach. I love it when the conditions are like this. The surf isn’t super clean, but the windswell makes it fun. Surfers can’t poach the takeoff spots it’s breaking everywhere. The surfers are just as scattered; everyone has a chance. As I paddle out, I see Shan hitting the sand too.

     I haven’t shown my face here in a while. Don K. and Roy aren’t here, but Ross is. A lot of locals are missing, and despite the good surf, I can’t believe that the usual suspects aren’t here.

     After watching some surf clips last night, I decided that I would use my Motorboat Too this morning and try to go for some snappier turns. Paddling on it isn’t a problem, and I’m able to punch through the inside waves without much of a struggle. The water’s warm, and everyone else has wetsuits on.

FRUSTRATION:

     I don’t know what’s more frustrating: being in flat surf or being in good surf but constantly in the wrong spot. Fuck, there are waves everywhere, but it’s so scattered that I find myself in the wrong place. I sit outside, and the waves break inside. I sit inside, and a rogue wave breaks outside.

     Bri’s having a difficult time too. Usually, she has a smile or a grin on her face, even if she scratches out. She paddles for waves that don’t break until the inside. There is a lot that I want to tell her, more pointers and advice, but she’s been a little snappy with me in the water lately. I guess I can be overbearing with my guidance at times, so I evolve and take a step back. Surfing is a personal experience after all, and sometimes it’s easier to figure things out for yourself.

     I ask her if she’s okay, but she’s a bit short. I can tell she’s frustrated, so I give her the space that she needs. I get some waves for myself.

    

The Shan Show:

     There’s a big left that rolls in. Everyone has his eye on it. Shan’s right on the peak and Ross is on the shoulder. Shan paddles for it and gets the slide; Ross pulls out. I’m watching to see how his ride turns out, but Shan goes straight, letting out a loud, “Woooooh!” as he drops in. He leaves the peeling, left face unscathed. What the hell?

     We’re sitting outside, and a rogue wave comes in. I’m at the peak and want to go left. Shan’s on my outside. Before I turn and go for it, I say, “Watch out, Shan!” As I’m dropping in, I see that he doesn’t pull out. I get front row seats to the “Shan Show.” He crouches down on the drop and gives out a loud, “Woooh!” I’m riding behind him. Motherfucker. He doesn’t even pump to get down the line and turn, at least one turn before it closes out. I straighten out.

     We both resurface on the inside. “You didn’t see me?” I ask.

     He’s smiling, and I can’t hear him over the white wash, but he’s saying something about how good his wave was.

     A rogue right pops up. Shan’s on my outside again. Some of the locals hoot at the wave. I turn and try to take a late take off. Shan . . . fuckin’ guy. I’m going for this wave, and instead of paddling over it to give me a clean line to draw on my way down, he duckdives in place while he’s right fucking next to me. I look at his legs go under as the lip feathers and propels me down the face. WHAT THE FUCK?

Windswell:

     Despite these debacles, I’m able to get my fair share of waves. Jimbo is loud. His energy is just too much for me. He’s yelling out, “It’s so big out here!” I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m excited too, but shit . . . I can enjoy it without addressing the whole lineup.

     I paddle more south in front of the tower. Everyone wants the right in front of the brick house. I get some lefts, and the waves are so peaky and fast that I have to be wise about where I set up my turns at. I get two turns tops, but the surf is so consistent that I still get more than enough.

     Before I go in to move my car, I find myself back at the brick house. Jimbo is on my outside. I catch a right, pump down the line, and set myself up for a clean, backhand snap. Jimbo is paddling into the wave right where I want to hit the lip. His nose is just about to drop in, but he sees me and halts. I do a deep bottom turn and snap the lip right where his face is. Obviously, I can’t see my spray from the turn, but I might have jizzed all over him.

     After that wave, I paddle out to the lineup for one more, but I stay south of him. Usually his yelling is motivational, but I hear him shout, “Fuuuuuck! I just want ONE!” He’s frustrated too, pulling out for guys who get the waves before he does. I don’t see why he’s pissed. I mean, there is plenty to go around, and he’s for sure caught more waves than I have the whole morning.

Car Dance:

     As I pass the metered lot, I see the meter maids doing their patrols, ready to ticket those who have chosen to gamble too close to nine o’clock. Street cleaning’s at 0900, and I make it to my car at 0855. Daily beachgoers pull up, waiting for the surfers who are leaving because of the street cleaning. Even when I pull out of my spot, a lady with an SUV full of kids moves in for my parking. Fuckin’ A. I hope that they only came to the beach for ten minutes.

     I don’t know how, but I’m lucky enough to score a spot at the top of hill. This time I grab my Lost Mini Driver, lose my rashguard, and run back down the hill.

ROUND TWO:

     As I’ve said before, my Mini Driver is a magic board. My whole session changes. The scattered peaks are rolling in, and I’m able to catch them so much easier. My turns aren’t as snappy, but it doesn’t matter. I catch this left pretty late, but my board is so wide that it gives me enough stability and time to set myself up before I pump. The thick rail clears the spilling section, and then I experience the sensation of a full, frontside carve. This board just makes surfing so much easier that I feel like I’m cheating.

     On a bomb right, I go late again. The wave is about to closeout, and I bottom turn and hit the lip before it comes down. I’m like a kid in a third world country enjoying his first orgy. With only my trunks on, I feel so free that I can maneuver effortlessly through the lineup, catching more waves than I was earlier.

     Bri decides to go in early. The look on her face says that she’s over it, so I give her my keys. About twenty minutes later, I call the session.

     Back at the car, I tell her that she’s at least experienced different kinds of conditions, having surfed Manhattan Beach, PV, Huntington, Old Mans, and Trestles.

     “Hey, I don’t know if you saw it, but there was this one wave where I—”

     “I saw it,” she says.

     “Yeah? The one where I threw out some water where the guy was?”

     “Yeah, you got him.”

     “Was he pissed?”

     “No. He kind of just made a straight face, turned around, and paddled back out.”

     We talk about how just before I got into that wave, she was at the peak, paddling for it too, and everyone was hooting her on it.

     “It looked like your nose went in the water,” I say.

     “It did. I didn’t like how everyone was cheering for me to go for it. It made me nervous. I don’t like people watching me surf.”

     I pause. “Well . . . that’s actually good, like positive when they do that, ya know? It’s good energy. It means that their not stuck up and want you to get it. If you would have got that one . . . they would have remembered you forever. You—”

     “Why would you say that right now?” says Bri. Her face is serious. Oops, I pushed a button. Sometimes it’s better to nod your head and say, “Yup . . . yup . . . yup. . .”

UNCLE DUTY:

     When I show up to my sister’s house, the bus is already out front. “Fuck!” I honk the horn to make sure the driver doesn’t take off. I hop out of my car and approach the doors. “Sorry,” I say. “It’s not one thirty yet. How long were you here?”

     He shifts his ass cheeks in his leather seat, looks down at his watch, and says, “Seven minutes.” My niece comes out of the bus, walks past me, and heads to my sister’s apartment.

     I say , “Sorry, sir,” and follow my niece in.

     My sister had asked me to take her dog Taco for a walk, but I throw a pizza in the microwave for my niece first. I look at Taco and say, “Come here, boy. Let’s go for a walk.” He springs up and hops to my feet. As I’m putting his leash on, I notice that something’s dripping on the floor. Motherfucker. I pick his ass up by the collar and walk out the door with him. Piss trickles from his little dog penis. For some reason, everything that’s been upsetting me lately comes to mind: National Guard, Bri’s attitude, my brother asking me to meet another guy on Craigslist for another surfboard, and having to babysit a couple of days a week.

     I grasp Taco’s neck and shove his nose into his own piss. I punch him in his little stomach, choke him some more, and throw him across the living room. Towering over him, I regress and lose the unity that I had been trying to achieve with my soul. Taco trembles and pisses on himself as I reach for his neck once more.